Bloody Little Pieces
by CupCake Avenue
Summary: A bloody recount of Aflred's horrific experiences during the Civil War. Starts in 1862 with Antietam and continues from there.  No pairings, just Alfred and his awesome adventure throught the 1860's.


Hello all! This first chapter is based on the battle of Antietam and continues to the 22nd of that september. It cronicles two battles that occured at that time. Kinda bloody and gruesomem, so I rated it T. Let my know if you find any spelling errors or if you think I should change the rating or genres. ^^ WARNING: I'm not much of a history nut, so most of my info is internet-collected. And this is a story about Alfred, no pairings or shipping involved.

The next chapter is already almost done, Alfred gets kidnapped? Oh Noes! LOL

Please rate and review! I'll give you cookies!

That being said, ONWARD!

* * *

SEPTEMBER 17, 1862

Alfred couldn't stop the shaking. It was like his whole body had become nothing more than weapon to be used against him. Muscles jumped and twitched, beyond his control. His blood burned its way through his veins to sear his heart. His mind echoed with the screams of so many people. Dreams, hopes and ambitions cut short.

The candlelit room was much to bright for his eyes; they stung and watered. He could feel them closing and made no effort to stop them. He could feel the world spinning around him and let himself fall to his knees before he fell on his face.

"Alfred!" He heard footsteps rush towards him."Damnation! You were not to leave your bed!"

Alfred almost smiled at the fear in Abraham Lincoln's voice, almost. "I-I didn't want to be alone." He coughed up blood.

"Ah, of course. We'll get you settled in a cot here." Alfred could here more people enter the oval office and move things around.

He could feel strong hands steady him, but they were feather brushes compared to the bruises and breaks that were forming. He moaned when he felt a crack in his skull. Blood trickled down his face and over his closed eyes. He knew whoever received that blow was dead.

"I see the battle is already well underway, God save us." Alfred was sure no one else heard, he only heard it because it was one of the thousands of voices in his head.

When other, less gentle, hands began to move him it was all he could do not to scream. Not that he was above it, but he was sure inhaling through his mouth would cause him to breathe in copious amounts of blood. As it was, the blood tickled down his throat and made him dizzy with nausea. So many of his people had lost teeth, or bitten their tongues today.

Clenching his mouth shut when they settled him into the cot prevented him from throwing up on the presidents aides. Fortunately it seemed that the president knew what he needed. The tall man tenderly helped Alfred to sit and pressed a bucket into his hands. Alfred couldn't have stopped himself if he wanted to, besides swallowing blood, he had a head wound that caused his nausea.

"There you go, don't try to stop it." Abraham Lincoln soothing him after throwing up was comical, but Alfred was grateful. The younger man patted Alfred on the back soothingly, causing the other to hiss in pain.

When he was sure he was done-for now at least-he passed the bucket back to Lincoln. The president quietly set it aside for later and eased Alfred back down. Alfred groaned, now laying on some of the worst wounds. He could feel the blood seeping past his cloths and staining the cot under him.

Daring to open his eyes, he say Lincoln staring at him with concern and regret. "I-it's not your f-fault."

Lincoln looked at him, clearly telling him it was his fault. "Stop talking and get some rest. The doctor should be here shortly to tend to your wounds."

With his eyes open Alfred could see how much of a mess he had made in the doorway a few moments ago. There were bloody footprints leading up to a pool of the stuff. Several hand prints and smears covered the surrounding area; it looked like someone was murdered in the oval office. Alfred's eyes teared, he couldn't die, but that blood did represent death.

Lincoln's gaze followed his to the doorway, "It will be cleaned up." He looked back at Alfred with fierce eyes, "It will all be cleaned up, everything will be all right."

Alfred slowly nodded, desperately needing to know that someone could take care of this. That somehow, after all this, he would still be the United States of America. He wouldn't disappear into oblivion, or become some twisted and mutilated joke of a country. It seemed so impossible with his body reflecting the battles going on around him.

Lincoln held his gaze for a moment longer before giving a decisive nod, "Good, now try to sleep."

Alfred smiled and nodded back, willing to trust this president with the job of fixing him. Sleep eluded him, though. The doctor walked in with his medical kit and two nurses.

The president stood, "Excellent, you're here. I need you to tend to Alfred to the best of your abilities until you see fit to release him from your care." He moved away from Alfred to allow the doctor access to him.

Everyone in the room noticed the president hesitate to mention how long Alfred would need a doctor. As for the nation himself, he knew it was going to be a long time. Lincoln moved to sit behind his desk while the doctor approached Alfred apprehensively. Even a blind man could see that he had lost a massive amount of blood.

Alfred closed his eyes again, preparing himself for the onslaught of pain. He felt the doctor settle in beside him, moving about and getting his tools. From the rustles on his other side, he assumed the two lady nurses where taking up residence there.

"Hmmmm, lets get him out of this shirt first." The doctor was speaking to the nurses, it seemed he thought Alfred was unconcious.

Rustling noises accompanied gentle fingers flying over his buttons. Apparently the good doctor was used to removing his patients clothing. Alfred had no time to think this over as the shirt was peeled away from his chest, causing fresh bleeding. He couldn't stop the low moan the escaped his clenched teeth.

The smell was horrific. The coppery scent of fresh blood mingled with the unmistakable smell of burnt flesh. No normal man would've survived what Alfred's body endured. He could feel his ribs breaking and knew one of them punctured his lung, that poor chap would died soon. Alfred was denied such a release, he would live.

One of the ladies started weeping, the other murmuring comforting words to her. Alfred wished he had stayed in his room. His desperate bid for company had caused these poor girls to see something no one should. He just didn't want to be alone, unsure if his pain was real or some demented nightmare. A demonic nightmare with the real pain waiting for him in wakefulness.

Papers were shuffled on the desk and the chair was pushed back. Footsteps came near, Lincoln couldn't sit by and watch. Alfred cracked open his eye to see Lincoln gently help the girls up and shoo them away. They sat on a nearby sofa, looking somewhat calmer when not directly looking at Alfred. Lincoln took their place by Alfred's side.

The doctor seemed relieved to have a strong male presence helping him, "President, if you wouldn't mind holding him up while I remove his shirt and exam his injuries?"

Lincoln nodded gravely, apparently knowing how much this was going to hurt the older man. Lifting Alfred was much harder than anyone of them expected, he was in so much pain that he tensed up, refusing to move. He was sure this was some kind of torture.

The doctor and Lincoln had to apply pressure to his waist and lever his upper half up. As soon as he was virtical he threw up again. Neither the doctor nor the president had time to retrieve the bucket and he emptied his stomuch on his lap. Not that there was much in there, mostly more blood.

"Stop. Please, just stop." It came out as a whisper but Alfred knew the doctor heard him.

"Can't do that son. I know it hurts but I've got to bind you up before anything heals wrong." Alfred whimpered, spitting up more blood.

The doctor managed to get the remander of his shirt off without reopening more than three wounds. With Lincoln's strong hands bracing his chest the doctor was able to fully exam Alfred's back, and it was bad.

"How did this..." The doctor mumbled to himself, poking a finger into a bullet hole. He faced Alfred again, looking grim. "I'm afraid I'll have to go and retrieve the bullets."

Alfred chuckled in relief, glad he was able to avoid the pain of that. "There is n' bullets, j-just tend the wounds."

A scream echoed through the hallways as Alfred's arm broke. Both the doctor and the president stared in horror as the normal looking arm bent and broke of it own accord. Well isn't that nasty, Alfred thought to himself. In his minds eye he saw a union soldier standing over a confederate soldier. He could hear both their thoughts, and it was driving him crazy because both of them were right.

The doctor made quick work of his arm, binding it up and placing it at his side. Most of Alfred's wounds were bound and not stichted up. The doctor was afraid of puss buildup that might occur with stichtes in place. Instead gauze was placed over the worse of it then bound tight.

Luckly for Alfred he passed out before the doctor cut him open to dislodge the rib stuck in his lung. He was alseep as the president of the United State of America washed the blood off his face. Completely unaware of the growing mass of bruises forming and reforming under his skin. Of all his fingers breaking, he was lost in his own world.

His world was full of screams and blood. Of confederate soldiers killing their friends and comrades in the union. Prayers of mothers and daughters, tending those they could find while looking for those they loved. Heated metal buring its way through unsuspecting flesh. Young boys and old men playing hero for their families. It was a horrific world, painted in red.

While the battle itself was horrific and terrifying, it was the idealoligies that were killing Alfred. While it had hurt him before, this was the worst. Two clearly opposing forces were screaming in Alfred's mind. Secede the United States! Keep the United States together! Free the slaves! Keep the slaves!

There wasn't enough room in his head; there wasn't enough room in the whole of his body. Nails were being driven into his head. Alfred frantically scrabled at his head, trying to pull it apart. His only thought was to let the oppresive thoughts out. Let them terrorize anything but him. But it didn't work, he felt blood flow, but no thoughts left.

There had to be a way to let them out! He opened his mouth wide, hoping they would escape that way. He growled and spit, trying to dislodge them, hoping to throw them up like the blood. But they stayed, yelling and screaming, demanding he do something. Each was sure they were right and Alfred's whispered attempts at peace had no affects on real situations.

Another young man died, impaled. Beyond sanity, Alfred had to split himself. He had to divide to stay alive, to stay human. He pulled at his hair and tore at his already open chest. He could give one side his heart and the other his brain. Everyone one would be happy and the voices would be gone. His blood-slicked hands keep slipping and sliding and when he tried again they were stopped entirely.

Invisible hands held Alfred down. His world, painted in red, defied him again. It wouldn't even let him divide himself, even to please it. He screamed his denial and frustration. He screamed until his voice was raw and it drowned out the voices in his head. Blood came pouring out of his mouth and nose, but he continued to scream. Anything to keep the voices out.

* * *

When Alfred woke he was tied down. The cot he had been placed in before was gone and he was now in a bed, outfitted with restraining straps. Both his hands and his feet were rendered immobile. He tugged at them uselessly, unable to believe what was going on.

The need to cradle his pounding head in his hands was undeniable, and yet, impossible. The voices that he had temporary downed out had come back full force, and this time he wasn't inside his head to deal with them. While inside his head he was able to out-scream them. Sometimes he found a dusty nook inside his head to hide in. But while awake, there was no place to hide and no scream could be loud enough.

While awake, the voices of his people grew stronger; reflecting on his waking ablitly to actually listen to them, instead of just hearing them. He used to like the sensation of hearing his people talk, but not anymore. Now all that filled his head was war and slaves. No happiness to be found.

Tugging at the straps more fervently, he growled in frustration. He needed to hold his head, to somehow ease the pounding headache. He felt some of his chest and arm injuries start bleeding at his incesint pulling and shifting. If he wasn't was injured and weak it would be a simple matter to break the restraints.

Movement next to the bed drew his attention and Alfred watched as the president woke. Alfred wanted to snap at the younger man, but the pain wasn't his fault. It wasn't his fault he didn't understand how countries worked. He didn't know the mental anquish Alfred was in right now.

Lincoln smiled at him sleepily, "Good your awake, I'll have someone come in and remove those blasted straps."

Alfred cleared his throat and instantly regretted it. It seemed a ton of needles had made their home there. He felt coppery liquid slither down his throat; it helped sooth it a little. Pushing all his mental and phyical pain to the back of his mind, he focused entirely on the president.

"Your throat bothering you? I wouldn't be surprised with all that screaming you were doing. Not that I blame you," He added hastily. "What with all those terrible things that were happening to you, no one could."

Alfred nodded, he wasn't ashamed of screaming, it was the restraints that were bothering him. He tugged at one meaningfully, "What about these?"

Lincoln looked at them apprehensively, "You were going through a lot, it seems you didn't realise what you were doing."

"What was I doing?" Alfred had a feeling he knew what he had been doing: trying to tear himself apart. Of course it had made sense at the time, still did in a way.

"Well," the president looked at him. "You were scratching and clawing at yourself. Inflicted quite a bit of damage too."

Alfred nodded again, it seemed the only action that didn't hurt, "How long was I asleep?"

The younger man shrugged, "A few hours, its the 18th."

Both men fell silent as one of the lady nurses came in. Alfred recalled that this wasn't the one to start weeping. He was glad she seemed OK and unaffected by the encounter. He nodded his thanks to her as she began undoing the straps and helping him stretch a bit. Glancing down at himself he couldn't help but sigh. He looked like a ghost, all covered in white gauze.

New red spots were making themselves known on his arms and chest, evidence of his earlier activity. Alfred took the opportunity to massage his sore and aching head. He winced everytime he accidentally reopened a injury, but his headache was far worse. The lady nurse seemed to notice his delema and handed him a cool wet cloth to place over his eyes.

He allowed himself to be laid back on the bed and have the cool cloth placed on his face. The excess water running down his face reminded him of the path his blood had taken previouly. He preffered the cool liquid anyday. He grunted slightly as he felt one of his toes break, a rather small injury. Neither the president nor the nurse noticed it.

It seemed the president had been there for some time, looking after him. He could hear the nurse murmuring something to the president. Telling him to go get some rest. Alfred shifted, uncomfortable at the idea of being left alone. It was a fear he carried with him ever since the war started.

He made no move to try and stop the president as he left, though. Staying with him all this time must've tired the mortal man and Alfred couldn't begrudge the him some sleep. Even if he couldn't get any. The only time the young nation ever got sleep since the war started was when he passed out. A rarity, as over the course of the war he had grown accustom the constant abuse he was dealt.

The nurse drew his attention back to the real word by clearing her throat. "I'm so sorry about yesterday." Alfred could hear sorrow in her voice, "We came to help, but we just got in the way."

"It's fine." Due to the sore and abused nature of Alfred's throat his respond sounded more gruff than he intended.

Footstep drew closer to him and he felt her gently remove the cloth from his face. He opened his eyes to see what she was doing and found himself staring into green eyes. She leaned closer to him, mere inches between their faces. She seemed to be searching him for something. With a disappionted look on her face she drew back.

"What was that?" Alfred was breathing irregular, he wasn't attracted to her, but he was nervous about her disappiontment.

"I thought I would be able to see him," she shrugged. "My brother died, I thought...I don't know, nevermind."

A long, ugly scratch appeared on Alfred's face. "Ah, I'm sorry but it doesn't work that way."

He felt more than a little sad at letting such a young soul down. There was nothing he could do though. He could see tears silently making their way down the girl's face. Tears she shared with all the woman inside Alfred's head.

"Come here," he beconned her over. Intending to give her at least a little hope in return for caring for him.

When she came near he took several minutes to sort through the voices in his head, including hers. He found her family, piecing it all together until he pushed the other voices to the background and her family was in the foreground. Then he focused souly on her, and what she wanted.

"I know that you're older brother Luke is fine, a broken femur, but fine. He should be home within the month." Alfred let himself bask in her happiness. He let her thoughts fill his own mind, overwhelming all other voices.

Leaping across the bed, the young woman hugged him, more tears in her eyes. "Thank you! Thank you so much."

More ribs cracked under her ministrations, but he found that he didn't really care. He had helped one girl, and that was enough to forget the increase in pain. Not that it wasn't increasing without her help.

The nurse wiped away her tears, "Look at me, forgetting all about you. I'm sorry, I'll go fetch more water for you."

She turned aways from him and he could see her body shaking with suppressed sobs. He respected her need for privacy and didn't ask her about it while she left. Left him alone, again.

Alfred wasn't quite sure why he didn't like being alone, but it terrified him more than life itself. When living involved hidious amounts of pain, that said something. Even when surrounded by people the young nation couldn't help but feel alone, with none of his kind around.

Both France and England had decided to stay nuetral in this battle, meaning they couldn't come see him. There was no one willing to risk backing the wrong side. Canada had a much smaller population and was unwilling to get involved without the help of England, meaning America was completely alone. Only mortals could offer their comfort now.

It was almost like a dream, with no one around to prove it wrong. None of his kind to let him know that it was going to be OK, or that this happened to others as well. No one to guide him or help him understand the unstable emotions and thoughts. Alfred almost wanted to laugh, of course he couldn't expect the damn Europeans to help him, the rebellious child. Even France didn't want to help him now.

Bitterness swelled and broke inside him. He would make them see, he could do it without them. He didn't need their help. If he came out wrong, then it would be their fault. Tears threatened to fall from his eyes, he didn't want to disappear. He wanted to be whole, a true nation.

He allowed the tears to blur his eyes, creating a frenzy of colors around him. Blending and mixing his surrounding until they became solid again. It was a rare gift for him to sleep and he didn't bother thanking anyone for it, just enjoyed it.

When the nurse came back later she gently placed a wet cloth across his eyes again. Concerned about his rising fever and restless sleeping. It was a shame that such a good man had to suffer. His injuries were truly horrific. She placed herself in the chair the president had left, content to keep a vigil over this wonderful man.

* * *

Screaming woke Alfred. The voices in his head were hurting and dying. Men and women were fighting and dying for what they believed in. Alfred clutched his head, whimpering in pain. He wanted to pull his hair out, but didn't want to be restrainted again.

"Are you alright?" The nurse rushed to his side, worry written all over her face.

It was all he could do not to lash out at her. He wanted to kick and scream and punch something. His head was being overwhelmed with voices again and there was nothing he could do. Shaking his head did nothing but remind him of inner ear issues. He fell over on his side, landing in a pile of wrappings. Apparently someone was planning on changing his bandages when he woke up.

He growled as he felt a bullet graze his arm. Blood spurted all over the lady nurse, white-faced with terror. It was obivious the woman-girl didn't know what to do. While Alfred knew the bullet wasn't real, he couldn't help but glance behind him for a hole in the wall; there was none.

He clenched his arm with his hand, trying to stop the bleeding. He didn't know he had that much blood, no mortal did, anyway. "Go get the doctor!"

The nurse seemed to come out of her trance as she rushed out of the room. Leaving Alfred alone to try and stop the bleeding. He was glad the bandages he landed on were clean. He managed to wrap one around his arm and tie it with his teeth. It looked horrible but it worked for now.

The blood was already seeping through the makeshift binding. The red liquid oozed down his arm to be soaked into the mattress. He stared at the growing stain in horror, how long was a supposed to live through this? How could he?

Dizziness overtook him for a moment and he had to close his eyes. He didn't bother to open them when he felt like his left hand was in open flames. With his eyes closed he could see the union soldier laying on the battlefield, unconscious, and with his hand on a gun barrel. Alfred could feel it as if it was his flesh getting sealed to the hot metal.

Blood trickled down his face, another head wound opening. The blood in his eyes kept his eyes shut when he heard the doctor enter the room. His eardrum was shot, he couldn't tell if anyone was with him.

Pathetic and tired of the pain, Alfred tried to move towards the doctor but couldn't even get up. Tears leaked out of his eyes, unbidden. Help me, please. He wanted to say it, but blood flooded his mouth and nose, not even his eyes could convey the message. He was helpless in the face of another battle between the confederates and the union.

He didn't even know if his body could tell who was winning, only who was dying. It didn't matter, he couldn't breathe to even try it. Blood was everything, it was in his mouth, nose, and eyes. He could smell it and taste it, it was leaking out of his ears.

Relief came when rough hands pulled him into a sitting position, leaning over his legs. He felt the blood that had been going down his throat spew out of his mouth instead. It was like throwing up, but immensely more painful. His abused throat was the only part of him that relished the passage of so much liquid.

"There you go, that should be it." The doctor spoke calmly as he laid him back down. It was like he hadn't just watched someone almost drown in their own blood.

Feeling burns form on his back, Alfred twisted away from the doctor. Right before his back touched the bed his landed on his side instead. He cried out in pain, having landed on his broken arm. He felt felt his chest tighten, why wouldn't it stop? The pain followed him no matter what he did.

The doctor, used to uncommunicative patients, instantly went to exam Alfred's back. He was surprised to find the burns but prepared nonetheless. After caring for Alfred last time, he made sure to stock his medical bag with everything he could. He pulled out a bottle and passed it to the nurse.

"Dose several bandages with this, we need to apply them to his back as soon as possible." She nodded and instantly went to work wetting the wraps.

With the nurse needing to get to the bandages that were now under him again, Alfred knew he needed to move. He could feel the doctors hands on him again and let himself go limp. Getting tense and stiff had only caused more pain last time.

He allowed himself to be rolled onto his back temporarily, before he was positioned on his stomach. All his injuries screamed at him for moving around, but he ignored them. Instead concentrating on just breathing, something that had become a problem for him recently.

Low moans erupted from his throat when the doctor began applying the newly whetted bandages. Apparently it was supposed to make the burns feel better, but it burned and stung on his open wounds.

He heard someone tsking behind him, "The burns are reacting well, but its no good for the bullet wounds. Girl, get me some alcohol!"

Alfred begged for the doctor to stop, "Please, n-no more...I can't do t-this." Tears dropped frealy from his eyes now.

His quiet crying was interrupted by loud sobs when the alcohol was poured on his back. No sounds in his head but his own voice screaming for it to end.

Alfred was already fading from consciousness again. Blood weighing down his eyes as much as exhaustion was. He made no attempt to remain wakeful, what was the point? More pain? No thank you.

This time when he passed out, he was lucky enough to go blank. No voices or wars or fighting. Just blackness. Alfred thought it wouldn't be so bad to die, especially if this was what it was like. Disappearing was infinitely easier that fighting through life. Less painful too.

Alfred didn't want anymore pain, he was too young, not ready yet. He had been independant for less than 100 years. Much to young to handle this sort of pain and turmiol. Compared to nations like China, Russia and Greece, he was little more than a child. Not even old enough to know what was good for him.

Darkness surrounded him and he vaguely wondered what it would've been like if he had been normal. Just a human teenage boy, with no thoughts but teenage girls and defending his home. It seemed like heaven to Alfred.

It was here, floating in the darkness, that Alfred knew he had to make a choice. He could choose to stay, or go back. To leave all the turmiol and pain behind and embrace the dark nothingness. He could choose to stay and wait, possibly be reborn as a new country.

But Alfred knew that it wasn't really a choice, he could still feel the lingering pull of his people. He couldn't leave them alone. Their feelings and emotions drew him back.

Alfred knew what it was like to be left alone. He had been abandoned by England for several years before the older nation remembered him. He had grown so much without the others help. All the company he had was Canada, his twin, and even he was different. He used to be french. All he had was his people, and he couldn't bring himself to leave them.

So when he woke next, he decided, it would be with a fighter's attitude. He would suffer through it all, because his people did. He would make sure that every blow they felt, he felt, because they were one. They were going to get something out of this war, even if it was only a stronger connection with their representative.

Splitting himself was no longer and option. He could feel it in his bones, he would either remain whole or die. Alfred wasn't even sure if it had been an option to begin with. From the moment he was 'born' he had been alive to represent the United States of America, even if he hadn't known then.


End file.
